User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 9
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Nine “Such dramatic magic has its risks, you know .” All the tension of the past few hours and days seemed to flow out of Minerva as she leant her head against Albus’s shoulder. Her eyes were still closed when she felt him kiss the top of her head. Their chairs had moved closer together, seemingly of their own accord, and she felt his arms close around her. She could hear the pounding of his heart and felt her own thrum along in answer. She tilted her head upwards, and he kissed her forehead and each eyelid before moving his lips against hers. They kissed softly for a few moments, with no urgency or pressure, just small, butterfly-light movements of their lips in tandem. She wound her arms around him, running one hand through his long, auburn hair as she broke the contact between their mouths to light soft, tender kisses on his cheeks just above where his beard began. She kissed his mouth again, with more pressure, as he murmured against her lips, “Minerva …” The feeling of her name crossing his lips as they pressed against hers sent a shiver of intense desire through her. She pressed her tongue into his mouth and met his. When he had thoroughly explored her mouth, he moved his lips to her neck, and she tilted her head back, exposing the tantalising white column to him. He kissed and gently sucked at the skin from just under her ear down to the edge of her blouse as she ran her hands over his shoulders to his chest, trying to feel more of him through his heavy robes. He lifted his head from her neck, and, looking into her eyes, he said, “Tell me to stop.” “Don’t stop. Please …” she whispered. “I want it … I want you.” He pulled her to him roughly then, and crushed his mouth to hers as if he were trying to frighten her away, but she only clung to him, pressing her body as close to his as she could. When he broke the kiss, they were both slightly breathless. “We mustn’t do this here,” he said hoarsely and rose, pulling her to her feet with him. He led her over to a bookcase and whispered a spell. To her surprise, the bookcase swung open to reveal the sitting room she had been in just the night before. He chuckled at her astonishment and told her, “Our offices are all connected to our private quarters by magic. It’s always prudent to have more than one way in or out of a room, I find.” “Very useful,” she agreed as they entered the room. He took a few steps towards the fireplace, but she pulled him back by the arm and put her own arms around his neck, nuzzling her cheek against his beard. He ran his hands down her back, letting them come to rest against her lumbar curve. He pulled her tighter against him, and she could feel his erection pressing against her belly. She wanted to reach down and touch it—as much out of curiosity as desire—but she wasn’t quite bold enough yet. He pulled away after a moment and went to the fireplace, which bloomed into crackling life when he pointed his wand at it. He beckoned her to come sit on the sofa by the fire, and she did. All his resolve, all his promises to himself had fallen away. He reached for her and pressed her down against the sofa, burying his face in her neck, grazing it with lips, teeth, and tongue. She bent her head, and he felt her breath hot in his ear as she ran her tongue around the outside of it then sucked his earlobe into her lips and between her teeth. He moved his head up and found her lips again, sucking first the top then the bottom into his mouth. Her hands were grasping and kneading the backs of his shoulders, while his free hand made its way from her shoulder to her breast, making her moan with pleasure at this first intimate touch. He stroked it through the thin cotton of her blouse, running his thumb over the hardening nipple. Her breath started to come in gasps, and her hands moved down his back, urging him to move more fully on top of her. She pushed her shoes off and wrapped her free leg around his. His hand travelled from her breast to her leg, moving up under the wool of her skirt over her calf to her thigh. She arched upward, trying to grind her pelvis against him, but his weight held her down. She pressed her hands against his buttocks, trying wordlessly to convey what she needed. She almost wept when he sat up. “Please, Albus,” she said, “don’t make me beg …” “''Shh'',” he said, putting his finger to his lips. “Will you come to my bed?” he asked, almost unable to speak for the sight of her with her rumpled blouse and her skirt rucked up to her thighs, her hair wild around her face. “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied, rising from the sofa. He kissed her gently and took her by the hand, leading her through the opposite door into his bedroom. The late afternoon light gave everything in the room a purplish hue due to the blue curtains around the large four-poster bed that dominated the room. She turned towards him and began to unbutton her blouse, but his hand stopped hers. She looked at him questioningly, again afraid he had changed his mind. She was reassured when he said, “I’d like to do that, if you’ll let me.” She dropped her hand and watched, mesmerised, while he undid the tiny buttons to her blouse. They both laughed a little at how his hands were shaking. When the buttons were undone, he leant in to kiss her neck as he pushed the blouse from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. He reached around, feeling at the waist of her skirt for the fastening, which he found at the back and unclasped. Before he unzipped it, he removed her wand from the pocket and sent it floating to the dresser. She heard the zipper, and her skirt fell to the floor, pooling around her feet. She stepped out of it and stood looking at him almost defiantly. He ran his hands down her sides, enjoying the way the silk of her slip slid across his palms. Kissing and nuzzling her neck, he grasped her slip by the hem and began to lift it. She raised her arms to allow him to pull it off her. Her breasts were small, so she wore no brassiere underneath. She flushed as he stepped back and let his eyes move down her body. “Sweet Nimue, Minerva, you are so beautiful,” he said thickly as he looked at her. “I’m glad you think so,” she whispered as he stepped back to her and put his hands on her bare shoulders, kissing each one, then dropped his hands to cup her breasts. “So beautiful,” he murmured again against her chest. She thought she might melt with pleasure at the feeling of his lips against her hot skin. After kissing, licking, and suckling her breasts until she could barely stand upright, he began to trail light kisses down her abdomen, stopping just above the waistband of her knickers. His hands found the fastenings to her suspenders. She noticed how deftly he was able to unhook them, and she tried not to think about when and with whom he had learnt the trick to it. He drew her stocking down and off her right leg, then did the same on the left. Her stockings dispatched, he placed one palm on each thigh, moving his hands to hook his fingers in the waistband of her knickers. She flinched, and he looked up at her, thinking she wanted him to stop, but she said, “I’m ticklish.” He smiled. “I shall have to be more careful.” He pulled her knickers down slowly, and she stepped out of them and away from him, allowing him to look at her fully nude for the first time. How had he never noticed how impossibly long her legs were? He had a fleeting image of them wrapped around him, but he pushed it away. There would be time enough for that, he thought. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated, finding nothing else to say, all other useful language having fled him some minutes ago. “Will you undress?” she asked. Now that he had seen her, she was anxious to sate her own curiosity about what lay beneath his voluminous robes. He nodded and unhooked the clasps that fastened his robe. When it was undone, he shrugged it to the floor, followed by his under-robe. He wore moss-green wool undershorts beneath it. He kicked off his shoes and leant down to remove his vividly striped socks, nearly losing his balance in the process. Minerva stifled her giggle until she saw that he was grinning too, and they allowed themselves a brief laugh. He had muscular shoulders and arms, and a broad chest. His belly was flat, but it didn’t look hard the way those of the young men she had seen did. His chest was lined with a thick mat of hair—darker than that of his head or beard—which ran in diminishing thickness down his abdomen, disappearing below the waistband of his undershorts. She thought he was the most wondrous thing she had ever seen, and she walked up to him and placed her hands on his chest, running them up and down, enjoying the rough feel of the hair beneath her palms. She laid her cheek against it, smelling the subtle fragrance of him—something musky mixed with lemon—then kissed his chest as she moved her hands around to float across the warm, smooth skin of his back. She moved her hands down over his buttocks and pulled him closer to her. She could feel him through his shorts, and she found the courage to touch him, tentatively at first, then more firmly, feeling along his length with her fingers. He shuddered, and she wondered if it was because she was hurting him or because what she was doing felt good. He answered her question by moaning into her ear as his kissed her neck, “Oh, Minerva. Do you feel what you do to me?” “Show me,” she whispered, not quite believing she was saying the words. She sat at the edge of the bed as he removed his shorts, letting them join his robes on the floor. Although she had seen pictures of nude men before, she had never seen an aroused man in the flesh. In truth, she found the sight a bit comical, but she had enough wits left about her not to show it. She also wondered how he would ever fit inside her, but the sensible part of her guessed that that would take care of itself in time. As he approached her, she had a moment of panic. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, which was an unusual feeling for Minerva. She took a moment to regret that she hadn’t listened more closely to the gossip of her dorm-mates; their midnight whisperings might have held a clue as to what one should do with a man. So she took the approach she found most often to be the most useful: she was direct. “How should I touch you?” she asked. “However you like.” “I want to please you.” “You will … you do. You don’t have to touch it at all, if you’d rather not.” She corrected that misapprehension immediately by running two fingers gently up his shaft, as she had done when he was still clothed. Emboldened by his intake of breath, she grasped him gently and began to stroke her palm up and down his length. When she ran her hand over the head, she was surprised to find moisture there. She looked up at him and was reassured when she saw his eyes were closed and his head thrown back slightly. She continued her motion for a minute, then tentatively reached her hand down to run her fingers over his testicles. She was surprised at how soft the skin was. She opened her palm to cradle them gingerly—she knew she had to be very gentle here—and he rewarded her with a deep moan. “Wait, Minerva … stop a minute.” “I’m sorry—” she began, thinking she had hurt him. “No, it’s just that it’s too good. Lie back on the bed, my love.” She thrilled to hear him call her that. She was apprehensive over what was about to happen, but she was also very, very aroused and trusted him completely. He lay down beside her and began to touch her again, feathering his fingers over her breasts and abdomen, kissing her lips as he did so, gently sucking on each one in turn. She tensed as his hands moved southward, his touch becoming more intimate, fingers sliding between her folds and over her clitoris, but after a minute, she relaxed, his touch eliciting soft sounds she was barely aware of making. He felt all of her tension melt away as she opened herself to his touch. He gently advanced a finger partway inside her, and when she didn’t tense at all, he knew she was ready. He was more than ready, he was aching to be inside her, but he stopped for a moment to ask, “Shall I cast a contraceptive spell?” “No, it’s done. I do it every month.” Lest he think something of it, she added, “Ever since I’ve been able to conceive. Just to be safe.” “Clever girl,” he said, wondering how she had learnt the spell. He might ask her sometime, but not now. He kissed her again and moved on top of her, letting her feel the weight of him. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest and wondered if it was nerves or desire. His own was doing the same, and, if he were to have told the truth, he would have had to admit to a few nerves himself. She moved her legs further apart. Her thoughts were a heady mix of desire, joy, and fear. She knew it would hurt, but she welcomed it even as she dreaded the pain. She hoped she would be able to please him despite her inexperience, but she knew he would be patient if she were inept. He was a teacher, after all. He used his hand to move the head of his cock to her entrance and gave her time to stop him if she wished. If he had asked, he would have found out that she loved the feeling of him hovering there, just at the brink, and that she wanted nothing more in that moment than to feel him within her completely. He moved slowly, and the answer to the question he had wanted to ask but hadn’t came with her cry when he pushed inside her. He stopped moving and put a palm to her cheek. “Are you sure you want this?” he asked. “Yes. Make love to me, Albus. Please.” Tears stood in her eyes, and he stroked her cheek while he waited for her pain to subside. After a minute, she took his palm from her face and kissed it, then placed it on her breast. He squeezed it gently and bent his head to kiss the rosy peak. He felt her muscles contract around his cock, urging him to continue. And he did, with short, gentle thrusts, graduating to long, slow strokes once he was sure she could take it. Gods, she was so wet and tight! He wasn’t sure how long he could last in her sweetness, so he concentrated on her breasts, cupping one and then the other in his palms and rolling his thumbs over her taut, sensitive nipples as he continued his rhythm. She sighed. Oh, but it felt so good! After the initial sharp pain of his penetration ebbed, she found the sensation of his penis deep inside her at first distinctly pleasurable, and then utterly intoxicating. When he bent his lips to her breasts again, she couldn’t help emitting a series of low moans. “Oh, yes, Albus … oh, yes,” she breathed as her neck stretched back, crushing her head to the pillow, and he began to thrust into her harder and faster. When his breath started to come in short, shuddering gasps, she knew that it was nearly over. She raked her nails down his back and put her hands on his buttocks, pulling him down harder on top of her as she arched her hips to meet him in wordless joy. As he was catapulted into ecstasy, he shouted her name loudly, then softer and softer—”Minerva! Ah, Minerva … Minerva …”—until it faded to a whisper. Once their breathing had slowed, he looked down at her face again. She smiled at him, and he asked, “Did I hurt you?” “A little, at first,” she admitted, then, seeing his concern, she added, “But after that it was lovely.” She sighed happily. “Really lovely.” He shifted his weight off her and lay on his side, facing her. When he slipped out of her, she felt the loss of him like a deep ache in her core. When she moved to put her head on his chest, he stopped her. “We’re not finished yet,” he said, eyes glinting mischievously, pushing her gently down onto her back again. As much as he hoped she had enjoyed what they had just done, he knew it was unlikely that she had been able to climax during their coupling, given her virginity. He wanted very much to make her first time as pleasurable as possible. She was breathless with anticipation when Albus put two fingers in his mouth, then moved his hand down to her sex. He slipped the fingers between her folds and began to stroke her clitoris, lightly at first, then with greater pressure, as she moaned her delight. After a minute, he slipped his index finger into her opening to gather more slick moisture and brought it back to her nub, quickening his stroke then slowing it, experimenting to see what she liked. He knew he had found the right spot and rhythm when her breathy moans became wild keening. She exploded when he brought his other hand to gently pinch a still-hard nipple. The power of her pleasure astonished her. It was far more intense than any she had ever had when she touched herself, even during her most fevered fantasies. Great Medea’s ghost! This was so much better than she had been led to believe by the whispers and giggles of the girls who shared her dormitory, with their silly boasting and false outrage over their boyfriends’ inept fumblings. She couldn’t help giggling herself when she thought about what they would say if they knew the cool, bookish Head Girl had just been well and truly ravished by their Transfiguration professor—and had loved every minute of it. “What’s so amusing?” Albus asked, drawing her into the crook of his arm. “Nothing. I was only thinking that you just gave new meaning to the words ‘fucked her brains out’.” Albus was shocked; she never used coarse language. “Whatever has happened to my sweet little Minerva McGonagall?” he asked. “She’s been Transfigured into a wanton hoor,” she said, giving the words her most Scottish enunciation. “Do you mind much?” “To the contrary, but such dramatic magic has its risks, you know.” “I know,” she said, suddenly serious. “Unlike many of my peers, I understand the meaning of the word ‘discretion’.” “I’m not worried for myself. Or rather, not only for myself. The damage to your reputation would be ruinous should anyone find out about us, especially just before you hope to secure an internship with the Auror office.” She was too happy to think of any consequences of what they had done. “Nobody will find out,” she said. “After all, you’re the most powerful wizard in Britain, and I’m the cleverest witch at Hogwarts.” “I daresay you’re the cleverest witch I am ever likely to know. And the loveliest. But you are very, very young.” “And that bothers you?” “Shouldn’t it?” “Why do you always answer a difficult question with a question?” “Does that bother you?” With that, she hexed him with a wandless tickling charm until he cried for mercy. About an hour later, as she dozed contentedly in his arms, Albus watched her in awe. He marvelled at the very fact of her: of her beauty and her brilliance, and most of all, her unbelievable willingness to love him. Sighing, he carefully moved his arm from under her head and saw her eyes open. She smiled, and he kissed her luxuriantly. “As loath as I am to leave my bed when there’s a beautiful witch in it, I’m afraid I have to put in an appearance at a meeting with the Headmaster before dinner,” he said, nuzzling her lips with his own. “Stay here as long as you like, but it would be wise for you to come to dinner in the Great Hall. Any alteration in your routine could raise suspicion.” He hated that they had to sneak around like criminals, but there was more at risk than his position or her reputation. He knew that he was squarely in the sights of Gellert’s spies. Anyone who was known to be too close to him would be too. He rose from the bed, leant in to kiss her one more time, and strode to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. When he went to use the toilet, he found blood on his fingers and penis. He realised it was hers and felt guilty for the first time in more than an hour. He knew that it was likely to become an all-too-familiar feeling. Still in the bed, Minerva stretched like a contented cat. It was one of the privileges of youth that she suffered no pangs of conscience over the difficult position she had put her Transfiguration professor in. She loved him, and she knew he loved her; that was the most important thing, wasn’t it? When he emerged from the bathroom, she was sleeping again. He dressed quietly and slipped out the door without waking her. ← Back to Chapter 8 On to Chapter 10→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium